An Explanation Heard From The Grave
by The Paper Crocodile
Summary: Elsa Lichtmann had arranged to meet up with Marie Phelps in your average greasy spoon on the streets of L.A. She had a important story to tell, and it came from a man already in his grave.
1. The Greasy Spoon Set Up

**Title - **An Explanation Heard From The Grave  
><strong>Rating - <strong>T  
><strong>Warning - <strong>Swearing, major spoilers  
><strong>Disclaimer - <strong>All components used belong to Rockstar.

**A/N - **Honest to God, the ending of L.A. Noire left me feeling hollow. Do not read any further if you have not finished L.A. Noire and/or do not want the ending spoiled. I felt like it left too many loose ends tangling there, as though they'd woven this fantastically complex web of stories and characters and in the process had forgotten a few strands. I honestly believed throughout most of the climax that Cole Phelps had 'been with' Elsa purely to get ease of access to further inquiries and information into the later cases, and continued believing this until the ending cut-scene played. I sat through Phelps' funeral thinking 'Umm... no, wait, what?' So, in response to this, I have written what I think took place. I have not changed the ending in any way, but have changed the way Elsa and Phelps' relationship was portrayed, and added what I felt was left behind, namely Marie's understanding of everything that went on between Elsa and Phelps.

* * *

><p>Miss Elsa Lichtmann stared straight ahead of her as she walked purposefully down the sidewalk, her high heels going <em>'clack, clack, clack' <em>on the solid concrete. She could feel people's eyes on her as she passed them; heard occasional snatches of hasty whispers: 'She's the one!', 'It's her; she caused his downfall!', 'Do you think she has a single decent bone in her body? I sincerely doubt it, myself.' Her hand gripped slightly harder on her purse and she held her head high. She didn't care about what any one of these unknown people thought of her. She only wished to clear the story to one single woman.

Turning the corner, Elsa spotted a sign that dangled overhead of the pedestrians; a lurid, garishly coloured sign with the words 'Break Fast, Lunch Fast!' written in too elaborate a font to be tasteful. This was where she had arranged to meet with the woman. A cheap café – or a 'greasy spoon', as most Americans would flippantly regard it as – to be able to talk freely in; there would be plenty of noise and commotion in such a place. She vaguely wondered if the woman would actually show up, given the rather awkward circumstances that connected them, as she approached the café, but she quickly repressed the thoughts before opening the door.

A small tinkering noise of the bell sounded above her; she looked around, surveying the pokey interior, the tables for two all covered with red and white polka dot tablecloths, the wooden chairs askew with some blocking the little pathways up and down to the counter. There were a group of loud young boys in the furthest corner, some sat on the table with their feet resting on the chairs, talking and laughing animatedly; a couple who were lost in a small world of their own, coffee and cakes all but forgotten; and one lone figure at the end, his back to the door and windows as he hunched over a book. So, no lone woman yet, then. Elsa took a table next to the wall, sitting on the chair that faced the door and glanced idly about her before placing her purse in front of her and picking up a menu.

"What can I get for you, miss?" a cheerful, girlish voice sounded from above, and Elsa looked away from the menu and into a set of bright blue eyes, twinkling with a smile as the girl – the waitress – poised her pen on her obligatory flip notebook. Her smile showed all her brilliantly white teeth, and the freckles that dotted her cheeks stretched slightly. Elsa couldn't help but smile back at such an innocent face.

"I will just have a coffee, no milk, no sugars, please," Elsa replied, watching the girl scribble down her order in short hand probably only legible to herself and the chef. "And could you check back in a few minutes? I am waiting for someone, but I do not know what to order for them."

"Sure! Your coffee will be ready soon," the girl beamed, radiating warmth and sincerity. She placed her pen and notebook back into the pocket of her well kept apron as she walked away. Elsa let a small, melancholic smile grace her lips for a few seconds; she could only wish that that girl, so naïve and young, would not experience half the things she herself had in her corrupt and ever changing life.

Out of the corner of her eye, Elsa spotted a woman weaving in and out of the crowd of people, walking past the café window with her head down and lips pursed. She glanced up quickly at the sign, nodded – a stiff, single jerk of the head – and pushed open the door, flinching ever so slightly at the chime of the bell. Her eyes scraped over the café before resting on Elsa; a spark of recognition and absolute contempt resting there. She adjusted her hat and worked her way past tables and chairs, stopping at the one opposite Elsa, and perched down onto the edge of it, straightening her skirt and clutching her bag in her hands. Prim and proper; Elsa had her number down already.

"I'm afraid this needs to be quick; my parents can only have the children for a little while." Her tone was sharp, her words snapped out.

"I am planning on taking as long as I need to efficiently explain to you exactly what your husband did, Mrs..."

"Ms. Marie will be just fine, thank you." Marie's eyes darted about everywhere, not resting on any one place for long. Elsa knew that she would have to start her story quickly, before Marie decided that she didn't want to listen to the side of the story that was, as of yet, untold. A woman like her would as easily push her chair away with her legs when standing up, clutch her bag to her chest and walk out huffing as she would stay, order a soft drink or a slice of cake and survey the woman opposite her with beady eyes, making the decision of whether or not to trust anything she claimed.

And it was up to Elsa to make sure Marie stuck out with the latter situation.

The cheerful, young waitress had placed the coffee in front of Elsa before either woman noticed her presence. "There you are. One coffee, no milk, no sugar."

"Thank you," Elsa said, pulling the white mug towards her. She would need the bitterness of the plain coffee to help her in dealing with Marie, this much she knew. A bitter woman's company chugged down with a hot, bitter liquid. It would keep Elsa on her toes, at least.

"And what would you like?" The waitress had turned her attention to Marie, whose smile was clearly forceful where Elsa's had been genuine. The waitress, however, seemed unperturbed by this different reaction.

Marie was silent for a few seconds, looking as though she would turn down the offer of anything at all.

"Do not worry. I am buying, Ms. Marie," Elsa said, raising one eyebrow at her almost challengingly. She smiled in satisfaction as she saw Marie's cheeks flush with just a hint of red.

"I'll have just lemonade, please." Marie's tone of voice was of annoyance, all traces of her smile dead to the wind. She looked almost ready to leave, but Elsa knew that she could not stand impolitely leaving after ordering. She'd caught her there; Marie wouldn't want to look standoffish in public.

"Okay, your drink will be here in just a minute." The waitress bounded off once more, and the bell tinkered again, this time to a couple who seemed to be in some sort of dispute. The woman kept shaking her head, and plonked herself down on a chair belonging to a table in the middle, and the man had his hands in the air, a mocking smile playing on his lips as he took the chair opposite. They were insignificant, yet Elsa found that she couldn't help but hope that they could listen to each other and sort out their differences.

She snorted. She was here to sort out a dead man's problems; to tell a story that had gone down to the grave with its real owner. She had much bigger differences to settle out than those two ever would.

"So," Marie said, staring with hard, slightly curious eyes at Elsa, her voice quiet and sharp. "Tell me of Cole Phelps's 'side of the story'. Enlighten me as to why he ended up with a German _whore _like you. I'd like to know better what drove him to such low levels."

Elsa grasped her mug's handle tightly, lifted it to her lips and swallowed some of the coffee down, all the while staring straight into Marie's eyes. Marie had ordered the soft drink and surveyed her with beady eyes. Now all she needed to do was see if Marie would decide to trust her or not.

Elsa put her mug down onto the table, cradling it in both hands, and told the dead man's story.


	2. Forced Acquaintances

"_That son of a bitch has ruined everything! Miss Lichtmann – Elsa, I… I'm going to need to stay here now. I'm sorry. I'm sorry I caught you up in this mess."_

_Elsa had stared at Cole Phelps as he talked, his voice muffled as he held his face in his hands. He'd knocked on her apartment door calmly enough, wearing – as ever – that simple blue suit and hat and a small, sad smile when she'd opened the door to him. He had walked straight in, without looking at her but brushing past her slowly, gently, and when he heard the soft click of the door as the lock nestled back into its place his whole demeanour changed instantly._

_His hat still lay upside-down on the mat next to the fireplace where he'd tossed it, his tie was dishevelled, pulled frantically away from his neck as he yelled obscenities into the air, and he had ended up falling onto the edge of Elsa's red leather couch, elbows on knees and face in hands, making soft sobbing sounds that could only be met with pitiful disdain. And then he had told her that he needed to stay in her apartment, no explanations offered, only apologies._

_Cole Phelps was acting completely uncharacteristically; and Elsa was scared not _of_ him, but for him._

_Elsa sat herself delicately on the armchair opposite Cole. Her belief was of tough love. "I am afraid that I cannot help you at all unless you wish to tell me what is wrong," she said, her voice detached of any emotion other than a kind of tired resignation, one that was only acquirable after living to a certain age and gaining a well full of unbelievable yet true experiences in those years. "And there is no use apologising to me; I willingly helped you."_

"_I know… I just, I didn't expect this to come into it, we both didn't sign up for _this_." Cole had raised his head to look at Elsa, and she almost wished he hadn't. His expression, his eyes… he looked like a broken, confused man, humbled where he did not need to be._

_But she still needed to be firm. "It would help if you would tell me what this '_this'_ is."_

_Cole's eyes drifted absently to his hat as he nodded, mouthing a silent 'yes' with a sudden, clear cut look of determination clouding his features as he snapped his eyes back to her._

"_Roy Earle, you remember him. He sold me out; he must have been tailing me when I left him alone after the one-eleven club shooting case… Christ, after I interrogated you in The Blue Room. When I went to your apartment at night… he must have drawn suspicions – wrong ones that he didn't even care to question! The son of a bitch sold me out to weasel his and the entire fucking corrupt system's way out of a scandal!" _

"_You are a strange man, detective," Elsa replied quietly, standing up and walking over to his hat. She picked it up and stood there, waiting for Cole to explain more, retaliate to what she'd said, yell more obscenities; she didn't know, couldn't possibly guess his reaction. In the short time she'd known him, she knew of his admirable skills, but had also glimpsed at his flaws, his undeniable hubris that almost made this situation laughable; the climax of a sleazy theatre production where the protagonist had been doomed from the start, but was only just starting to deteriorate. This, she thought sadly, may prove to be his fall from grace. _

_Her reply had sent Cole into a surprised silence before he gathered himself. "Miss – Elsa, do you by any chance read any newspaper?"_

"_No; American affairs are not really what I call my own, unless they affect me directly. Why?"_

"_Because right now, there's a front page story of an LAPD scandal spread across every single newspaper in this city. You should read it, it's claiming to be an 'un-American' story and it directly affects you." Cole's mouth lifted up on one side in an attempt of a joking smile, and he tried to mimic a laugh that came out as an exhausted and unbelieving exhale of air. His small, crooked smile never reached his eyes and never really reached his mouth before it abruptly fell. His head collapsed back into his waiting hands._

_Elsa was intelligent, and she recognised that it wouldn't take as smart a woman as her to put two and two together. _

"_He told the men in charge that you are having an affair with me." No question, just a simple statement. One that made Elsa want to raise her eyebrows in disbelief, snort in light of the idiotic assumptions people made, slap Roy Earle around the face – he'd done it to her enough times. None of these, however, were appropriate or practical to the matter at hand, and instead it simply made her stare at Cole with an unwaveringly pitiful expression. _

"_I'm sorry, Miss Lichtmann. I should not have dragged you anywhere near my investigation. And now to come here… but I had nowhere else."_

"_You will apologise for the state you are in now; you will not apologise for what has past. Pull yourself together!"_

_Cole's eyes lit up as he opened his mouth, as if to shout back, but his eyes dulled once more and he looked away from Elsa, breathing heavily. "I've lost my wife, Elsa. I've lost my wife, my daughters, my house, my job. Marie wouldn't even let me explain, she just… tossed out a suitcase after me," he whispered._

"_Did you give her reason to be suspicious?" Elsa asked, walking back to the armchair and placing Cole's hat on the coffee table that stood between them. _If he had not, _Elsa thought, _she is one hot-headed woman.

"_I…" Cole started, faltering until he noticed Elsa's quick, sharp glare. "Marie asked me if… if I loved you. By then she was clutching at straws. I guess she could have accepted my eyes wandering a bit – Christ, if she only knew the real reason for all this – but she couldn't, and rightly so too, accept that if it was true."_

"_And what did you say?"_

"_I… Nothing. I couldn't speak. I was too astonished. The circumstances seemed suspicious, I'll admit, but to think that after all we've done together she… she could so easily believe that I loved another woman, believe that I'd drop our love like that… I had no reply."_

"_I am sorry, detective, but if that is all you could do I have no sympathy for you."_

"_I don't deserve _any _sympathy. But… could I stay here? Just for a little while, I promise I'll get out of your way when…"_

"_You can stay, but I want no pathetic speeches from you. And for goodness sake you will go to your wife and explain to her whatever story you have tomorrow."_

"_Miss Lichtmann, I… I can't thank you enough."_

"_It is just Elsa, detective. Get used to it."_

"_And it's just Cole, Elsa," Cole replied, lifting his eyes up to her face and attempting another smile that seemed at least half genuine. Elsa stared at the man for a moment, a sad broken man, and shook her head as she turned away and walked into the kitchen, wondering what tomorrow was to bring._


	3. Just Another Closed Chapter

"And? What happened the next day?" Marie whispered. Her eyes were wide and she'd leant forward during Elsa's narrative, her elbows on the table and her attention directed completely to the story. The cheerful waitress had brought the lemonade a while ago, and it sat next to Marie's arm, untouched and now flat.

"He couldn't bring himself to do it. He developed a… 'defeatist' attitude; I told him to get a hold of himself but he would not listen. He just kept saying how it was hopeless, how he knew you would not listen and how he did not blame you. He said he missed his children, felt guilty for leaving them in such a position…" Elsa's voice had gone quiet, and her throat hurt as she drew her mind back to the pathetic Cole who had perched on her couch and rocked himself, struggling to stay calm as tears rolled silently down his cheeks. She breathed in heavily before she continued. "He stayed at mine, trying to work his way back up the ranks as a detective. He got hold of a lead that led to something much bigger, and he… used me for information. He started acting more than kind towards me, and I have to admit I did not attempt to stop him."

"Ha! You little bitch, he used you and you let him? How desperate were you?" Marie sneered, a cruel smirk playing on her face. Elsa didn't take it to heart. She could see well enough the tears that were struggling to stay back behind the cold and aggressive exterior by which Marie covered her sadness.

"You knew the man. He had a certain charm, a certain something about him that was extremely desirable, and although he was using me I did not mind. I enjoyed being with him, and he was looking into a case that involved a dear friend of mine. I wanted the information as much as he did himself."

"Why didn't that stupid man try harder to explain to me, someone, _anyone_ except you if he was accused so wrongly? He just accepted losing everything and resorted to… to you?" Marie had gripped tightly to the side of the plastic table with her fingers, her knuckles turning a brilliant white, and her eyes were alive with livid anger and desperation, her cool exterior quickly melting away in favour of her enraged melancholy.

"Marie, I only know what he had told me. Maybe if you had acted kinder to him the first time he tried to explain to you, even just five minutes of listening to his story, we would not be in such a god forsaken position. But Cole Phelps was a good man. If you need someone to blame, do not think ill of the dead, of your husband, father of your children. Blame me." Finally, the tears Elsa had already keenly spotted within Marie's eyes were starting to well and were threatening to spill over.

_Tears are pointless, and too late now for anyone who cares_, Elsa thought bitterly. She had cried for Phelps at his funeral, she felt them start to appear when she thought of Phelps in her apartment, shattered, a shell of his former self. Yet she never let those tears control her, and had vowed not to shed a single one over him again. What has been lost cannot come back.

"Don't you _ever_ call me 'Marie'," Marie spat through gritted teeth, standing up slowly, and the chair scraping the floor with an unpleasant noise as she moved it. "I came here, listened to your story-"

"Phelps. What I have just told you is Phelps' story. Not mine."

"Fine," Marie said, her voice dangerously low. She leaned over the table, barely avoiding knocking over her drink as she peered into Elsa's face. "I listened to _his _story, and I have accepted it. It is entirely your fault, so I will gladly take your offer up of blaming you. I wish never to see or hear from you again." The tears were rolling down Marie's cheeks, but she didn't seem to notice, even when they fell and splashed onto the table.

"I do not care for you," Elsa replied, staring Marie back and not flinching an inch as Marie had come closer. "The only people I care for who are affected by this ordeal are your children. Please, do your best to raise them well, and make sure you tell them how brilliant and intelligent their father was. Do not let Cole Phelps die in your mind."

With that said, Elsa also stood up, clutching her purse at the bottom as she opened it up. She pulled out a five dollar note without glancing away from Marie, and placed it on the table before staring straight ahead of her, her head held high as she walked past Marie and out of the café. She had delivered the story, she had said her part.

She knew that the man Cole Phelps was now just another closed chapter in the book of the story of her ever changing life.


End file.
